


Forlorn

by ishala8



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Norse Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishala8/pseuds/ishala8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While a young Tony Stark studies at MIT, a certain trickster god serves punishment on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forlorn

He didn’t regret it.

Ever since Loki set himself on the path steeped with magic rather than choosing the life of a warrior, his role in the palace had been made clear to him. Unlike Thor, he couldn’t scare Asgard’s enemies into submission with his might or charm them with his tales of valour. No, his weapons consisted of his words and the novelty of his slight physique compared of that of an Asgardian warrior’s.

The first time he had been called upon to make use of his skills was when Thor unwittingly insulted the family of one of his playmates. The father had been dragged off Thor by guards and led to the throne room were instead of punishment for assaulting the prince, Odin offered him a feast in compensation for the slight. Loki was ordered to sit beside the guest of honour and talk him out of his rage.

As the night progressed and alcohol ran plenty, the man’s hands had begun to stray. Loki had attempted to escape his advances but a glare from Odin had stopped him in his tracks. The young prince, too young to have otherwise attended the feast, ended up trapped in it for the night, unable to refuse drunken gropes and slurs.

The next day, the issue had been resolved and Loki was left to deal with a petulant Thor who simply could not accept that his brother had been allowed to attend a banquet before him.

The second time, it had been a warlord demanding more money to be sent to his province. This time there wasn’t even the pretence of a feast and negotiation through words. Loki had been ordered to the warlord’s room where he was to remain till morning and keep him entertained.

While Loki had read up on what was involved, he had never actually had sex before, much less with another man. The experience had been painful and terrifying, and when the guards came to find him in the morning, he was bloody, unconscious and scarred by the experience.

The third time, Loki had ran to Frigga after being ordered to entertain a diplomatic party from Alfheim. He had been stopped by the guards before reaching her rooms and had been thrown in the dungeons for the next five years. Thor and Frigga had been given some imaginary explanation that justified his punishment, and after having spent five years in the non-existent mercy of Asgard’s prison guards, Loki did not see it fit to correct their beliefs lest he have to face them again.

He had been just short of a hundred years old when he had been sent to distract Svaðilfari. That was the first time that Loki viewed his shape shifting abilities as a curse rather than a brief escape from reality. When Sleipnir was born eleven months later and Loki could turn back into his human form, Odin looked upon him with disappointment and announced that Loki was not allowed to ever consider the horse a son.

Upon Loki’s hundred and thirty fourth birthday, he had been dragged before the court mages and put through one of the many rituals he had been forbidden from studying. When he had come out – with his skin feeling wrong and restrictive over his bones – he had been introduced to Angrboða.

All the explanation he had been given was that tensions were rising among the Frost Giants and Loki was to go with Angrboða, one of Jötunheimr’s greatest warriors, as a show of good faith. Loki didn’t much care for the excuse as to why it happened, all that he cared about was that the fifty four years that followed had been the best years of his life.

Angrboða had expected him to be loyal to her cause, stand beside her when she asked it of him and entertain her when her war allowed. As long as those duties were satisfied, Loki had been free to do as he wished. For the first time in his life, he had the time to fully explore his powers and was allotted the freedom to do so. He had reveled in his newfound freedom and the easy camaraderie he had developed with Angrboða.

The female jötunn had been insane, but her insanity was what appealed her to Loki. She would charge into battle seemingly bloodthirsty and unprepared, only to spring up hidden strategies left and right. Loki had lost count of the number of times her crazy schemes had worked despite all possibilities. She had been an excellent tactician even when little of the bloodthirstiness and savagery had been faked.

When she had first announced her pregnancy amongst the foulest of swear words heard on all three worlds, Loki had had no idea how to feel. When Hela was born, he found he couldn’t help but love the baby, dual colouration or not. The second time similar events had transpired and Loki had been handed a serpent, whose name Angrboða had proclaimed to be Jörmungandr, the god of mischief had been bemused but accepting. The third, he had fallen in love with the wolf cub and proclaimed his name to be Fenrir.

Loki’s time of freedom had been cut short when a contingent of Asgardians had descended upon Angrboða in an attempt to persuade her to exercise a firmer hand with the rest of the Frost Giants so as to maintain the peace with Asgard. Angrboða had spat in their faces and managed to take down half of them before she was cut down. Loki had been ‘reclaimed’, his children sent to places unknown and his Asgardian ‘family’ ecstatic to have him back.

Life had gone back to how it have been before, only this time Loki couldn’t help but lash out at everyone. He had started small, pranking Thor and his friends, the palace guards and staff… He had made doors appear where there were none, stuff disappear and reappear at the other side of the palace, Thor’s armour turn into pink frills and Sif’s hair flash green every time Thor would approach another female.

Then he had tested his boundaries by pranking the other gods. He would try his best to disappear from Heimdall’s vision, using old passages between the worlds to gain small breaths of freedom. He would sneak into Odin’s weapon room, only to carve rude faces on the walls. He would attempt to steal from Iðunn, replacing apples in her basket with ones he kept from the banquet tables.

More often than not, he had been caught. Soon people had started blaming him for all the weird things happening around the palace city, but he had kept lashing out in an attempt to rebel. When needed, he was the perfect brother, the obedient son, the demure courtesan or the adept diplomat. However, whenever Odin’s attention lapsed, he was a trickster, a free spirit, a traveller, an adventurer, a silvertongue.

So no, when he had come home after an adventure with Thor and had lashed out at Odin when ordered to make himself presentable and go to a visiting diplomat’s chamber, he did not regret his actions. He had spent the past few days trying to talk dwarves into catering his ignorant brother’s whims, only for the encounter to end with Thor holding him down while the very same dwarves had giddily sown his mouth shut. He was bleeding and hurting and feeling more betrayed than normal, so he justified throwing magic at the All-Father.

Being stripped of his powers and thrown into the middle of nowhere was an acceptable and somewhat welcome punishment. He did not regret it. For however long Odin deemed to leave him here to think over his wrongdoings, he was free to live his own life away from the gilded cage that was Asgard.

::

Tony Stark was the youngest student ever accepted into MIT. When he had received his acceptance letter, his father had hummed distractedly and gone back to work, while his mother had spent fifteen minutes fretting about how Tony would not be able to make any friends due to the large age difference before being forced to take a call that led her to forgetting all about it.

Three weeks later, he had been all packed and heading to Massachusetts, leaving behind the big Manhattan Mansion, his nanny and his incredibly busy parents. He had refused the bodyguard his father had attempted to force on him and for the first time in his fourteen years he had been experiencing freedom.

Despite his mother’s concerns, he had not faced any difficulties in making friends. The Stark name was influential and many were prepared to do anything to get close to the affluent family, even if it meant befriending the fourteen-year-old heir. Tony had been too smart to think any of them as real friends. He had been more interested in the favours they had been prepared to grant him.

When Tony had thrown his fifteenth birthday party, the entire campus had been invited. No one had complained about the music, or the alcohol, or the sex, or the drugs. Tony had tried everything and had come away from the experience somewhat disappointed and sporting a massive hangover. No one had dared mention his age, even if everyone knew what had transpired at the party. The paper had made mentions and Maria had called to scold him, but it had all blown away fairly quickly.

A few weeks later, Tony had met James Rhodes. The older boy had been grabbing a coffee at one of the less frequented campus café’s when he had been privy to the Stark heir’s abduction by some hired lackeys. He had chased down the car, called the police and taken down two of the abductors before help had arrived.

Rhodey was Tony’s first real friend. He had been eighteen years old - a first year in something to do with Aeronautics because his parents were forcing him to go through university - with dreams of joining the Air Force. While reasonably open to trying new things himself, the older boy had been quick to curb Tony’s more outrageous schemes. In a way, he acted more like a concerned parent than anyone had in Tony’s life and the young genius appreciated the effort his new friend put into keeping him safe.

Tony was by no means tame. He snuck into bars, threw parties and pushed the boundaries to see how much he could get away with. However, he also spent days buried in labs, forgot to eat due to some new fascinating theory he was working on, and occasionally forgot that humans could not run solely on coffee. While not extremely dedicated to his studies, he did finish assignments around his various projects and considered an afternoon spent debating theories with his professors as much fun as one he spent at a club.

Some days, he lamented what had become his life. His parents were too busy to care about what he was doing with his life, the tabloids cared a _bit_ too much about the same, most of the people surrounding him were close to double his age, Rhodey was his only friend and even he was too busy to care about a rebellious teenager, and despite making it into his second year of studies, people still did not believe he did so on his own merits.

He knew this would be his life for years to come. Soon, he would not have his age and the threat of lawsuits to protect him from the press. Soon, people would believe that he was capable of matching his father’s work and the attempts on his person would increase. Soon, he would not be able to excuse not leaving the various parties with a woman on his arm as something he did due to the illegality of such an action. However, he would always live this fake life, staged in front of cameras and dissected by the public.

He wanted something more. He wished he had not been born a Stark, wished he had been free to live his own life where he was not expected to become a clone of his father. Tony just wanted to break free of the constrains his heritage and society imposed upon him.


End file.
